


Philza Minecraft is so brave

by Anonymous



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angel of Death Philza Minecraft, Angst, Fluff, Hurt no comfort??????, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal!Philza, Immortal!Technoblade, Kidza, Major Character death?, One Shot, Philza-centric, Plz let me reiterate, Short One Shot, Very. Low. Quality, aetwt, demon!techno, mostly - Freeform, no romantic relationships, sorry not sorry XD, unless?, very low quality!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-24 12:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30072078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: How many ways can Philza Minecraft be written?
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Philza Minecraft & Technoblade
Kudos: 38
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Empty eyes

Gaze upon the Angel of Death and see his sorrows spill to the soils below, how wings void of feathers and flesh hang behind his back, a product of magic that keeps the bones connected and grasping for life.   
Gaze all you want, for he won't look back. Past the veil that hangs from his black bucket hat—once striped white and green—now covered in ash, the angel is in another place, a time long since passed. 

In a small cottage braiding pink hair, he’ll never forget how soft it was, how damp and vibrant it became as strands fell on seas of blood. 

Of when he hummed songs from strummed guitars, hears laughter that always came with, and listens to the cries of desperate pleas for him to—

“Do it.” 

“Kill me, Phil.”

“Killza.” 

And the smile that graced his lips as he hears his youngest play outside. A beloved child with a crown of golden hair who stands tall and proud next to the boy they found and raised as their own.   
Always smile, hysterical or not. Through the funeral, he went to when he learned he failed both of his own—the last of his own. 

He has nothing now except for the cacophony of memories that flies and soars in his head, he is nothing but the vassal for what the past has given him.

So gaze upon the Angel of Death as he walks— _always walks, never flies, his wings were taken, his boys were killed, his fault his fault his fault_ —to take another soul to appease the entity he struck the deal with. 

“Please,” Philza whispers, clenching the red bandana of his youngest, the coat and cloaks of his two eldest, the tie of his child that was forced in a position of power too soon. “Bring my boys back, I’ll do anything.”

Gaze upon the Angel of Death as he walks in a world of red, wonder why he wears only crimson colors instead of the black often seen in fables and fiction. 

And realize this is not the Angel of Death or the grim reaper from passing tales with happy endings and new beginnings, but the life of a desperate father who only wants his sons back. 


	2. Tea Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes at least two to call it a party

It was so long ago when he first met him, covered in a cloak made of golden threads, shining with purple hues that brought static in the air, ones that could’ve only come from one of the strongest enchantments Phil’s ever seen.

Even looking at the floor—his attention only on the love of his life on the floor, exactly where he left her before promising to bring her back to life before fighting the dragon—he could see the frayed edges of his shimmering cloak, feel it rustling his wings ever so slightly. 

“Don’t do it, little crow.” The voice was hoarse, grating and getting past the lingering tinnitus from when the dragon threw him into the obsidian pillars. 

Philza looked up a few inches towards the source of the voice—and saw him.   
A baby zombie, a small body with green, rotting skin where the golden cloak doesn’t cover him, and soulless black eyes—eyes that stared at the End fountain. 

Philza doesn’t know how, but he knows Death when he sees him, feels the crackle and rumble of power, and he clutches her closer to his chest, carrying his wife across the end, his wings coming around to wrap black feathers over her cold body. 

He could hear the wedding bells ring, hear his friends laughing and crying, and all the, “There’s a chance for us, yet!” if he blocked out the static from the hundreds of endermans. 

Just as the aged pages said, place the four crystals to bring back the Ender dragon...and maybe if the body is similar to what the Ender dragon was—splashed with Dragon’s breath—then whatever magic takes place could mistake a human for the dragon and bring her back.  
He’s read about it over and over in books as old as the world he lived in, promised her it would work with the sliver of a chance he saw in ancient scriptures. 

He was an adventurer, a friend, a husband, but please for the love of gods don’t make him a liar. Not now of all times. 

So with one last look at Death’s soulless black eyes, Phil places the final crystal. 

* * *

  
The skies were clear when he fell from the portal, not a cloud in sight to block summer’s sun from bearing her disappointed gaze at him while he cried into the earth, battered and bruised with injuries obtained from two dragon fights. 

And Death was a witness to it all, to the two deities of the universe who—with soft and loving tones—told Philza that he had broken a rule of the universe and that he shall pay the price for it. 

His wife is gone, he can no longer age along with the rest of the world. 

“Live with your consequences,” they said, voices echoing around his head and bashing his skull in. “You wanted to cheat death so badly, isn’t this what you wanted?”

* * *

“Do you remember when we met?”

They were outside on the white circular table, each with a cup of Jasmine tea in hand. 

Kicking up a few clouds, Philza takes a sip. “Somewhat.” 

He’s long since passed the mourning stage after a few hundred years, forgotten almost everything about his past life as his mortal mind tries to cope.   
Yet the feeling of disbelief stays—he always feels it when he comes face to face with the baby zombie that takes the title of Death. 

It’s been a few...years since Philza met death, the being whose voice was never able to get out of the hoarse tone despite how many times he invites Philza for his self-proclaimed tea parties despite them being the only ones here. 

Since that first day, they’ve become good pals, Phil thinks. 

Death would stay with him to chat—the only constant that he can take comfort in—as Phil flew from place to place, from battle to battle to extend his stay in the land for a bit longer, to break out of the boring days of empty rooms and feel adrenaline race through his veins when he flies faster, kill quicker, and if he’s a bit reckless. Then no one but Death needs to know. 

He moves from place to place, but a moniker begins to circulate through the places he’s traveled to. 

Somehow, in every battle that followed, people would claim that when they were on the cusps of death, they would see a figure dressed in black cloth, from the top of the head to the floor as it forms a sea of black on the ground he walked on, looming above with eyes as white as nether stars.

Death laughed for hours after hearing “Angel of Death” circulating around, Phil was sure that if Death was alive, he would’ve suffocated. 

“I assume they’re all seeing you?” Philza asks, taking a sip of green tea. 

“Everyone seems to see me differently,” Death says from his stool stacked with netherite blocks—the showoff. 

  
As Philza travels with Death by his side, sometimes he talks to himself so Death could hear and maybe pick up on that topic when they have tea after he rests his head on pillows. 

* * *

  
“Where is this place?”

“Somewhere between the mortal realm and...All the other realms, little crow.” 

They sat at a circular table, it and the chair and stool as white as the sea of clouds around them. Death sits on beacons tonight. 

“So, little crow. What tea do you want?”

“Jasmine would be great, mate.” 

* * *

Later on, he would meet the Blood God in a tournament that had just sprung up when he needed more money, and he would instantly feel a charge in the air around the pig hybrid as they introduced themselves. At first, he thought it was just intimidation—understandable really, seeing the red gown he wears and the golden crown atop his head. Or maybe it was the way his pink bangs make his face a bit sharper too. 

Meeting him at the podium, the boy shook his hand, and in the infamous monotone voice he heard around the entrance, he heard the short, “Technoblade.” 

“Philza,” he said, strangely getting pumped from the buzzing air that still hasn’t eased up, “let's win today, shall we, mate?”

A quick quirk of lips, “Of course.” 

The buzzing...Philza couldn’t quite put his claws on it for the all of hunger games where the rumble came to a peak before simmering down, leaving Phil to restrain himself from taking a few laps in the air to work off the buzz.

Well, that was until he heard Technoblade whisper to himself, “Chat, calm down. We’re going to spill more blood today, I promise.” 

His wings flapped by themselves, making Technoblade look back and be greeted with Phil’s beaming smile. 

“Should I ask?” 

“Nah, mate,” Philza laughed, throwing his fishing rod in the waters. 

His wings were shaking with how happy he is, the buzzing. He knows where its from.

How could he forget when he feels that soft rumble in the air when he drinks tea every night. He bets he felt it as well when he jumped into the fountain.

Fuck, he needs to calm down, he's shaking the fishing rod—they won't be getting a clownfish at this rate.

When his hands stopped shaking and his wings stopped making a dust storm in the sand, he allows himself to bask in the feeling of knowing that he has someone who won’t die on him, who he could talk to from time to time without needing to visit graveyards, and for the first time in years—centuries?—he could talk to someone other than Death without all the metaphorical walls up. 

And it was after they won by a landslide that they exchanged a few breathless smiles, and promised to talk in the morning. 

* * *

When Philza came into the Tea party, there was another chair and set of utensils on the table.

“Someone coming?”

“Someones.” Death's voice is as hoarse as it always is and the cackles sound like turbulent winds. 

The “someones'' ended up being the Blood God themselves. Showing up—presumably—after Techno had gone to sleep, the soft buzzing still present around him, mixing in with Death's from time to time.   
Walking up to the table, they took the empty chair and sat right next to Philza—maybe a bit too close, but he doesn’t mind. 

When they speak, their words echo hundreds of thousands of other voices, all yelling to get their thoughts heard—may it be some repeated phrase, E, or an actual sentence. 

**_“Only first place? L”_ **

**_“YOU DID SO WELL TODAY!”_ **

**_“We like you, Philza. We keep u now.”_ **

**_“L.”_ **

**_“Techno likes you too!!! He’s planning on giving you his communicator’s info!”_ **

**_“STOP SPILLING THE SURPRISE.”_ **

**_“L.”_ **

**_“RIP.”_ **

_**“F.”** _

They seem friendly enough, but poor Techno if he has to deal with this all the time. 

From the wheezing laughs that sounded like tornados and broken buildings, Death seems to like Chat. 

The tea party, despite having an extra guest(s), still proceeded as normal. 

They talked about the day, Death told them of some interesting souls he found, asked what Philza was thinking at some moment in the rounds, the likes.   
Philza might answer and add a few quips back, might ask and give more. And now the Blood God is here to add in their two cents into the conversation as well—Death and Philza listening to the loudest voice that seems to be the general consensus of the cluster of voices. 

It was a while later that the clouds around them turned dark, they’ve just finished their last topic, and Philza was about ready to go. 

Just about ready. 

“Chat,” he said, turning to look at the many red eyes that cover every inch of the Blood God’s face. “Please don’t bother Techno too much. You know rainbow chat doesn't do anything.”

**_“What if it does?”_ **

**_“What if it’s a secret?”_ **

**_“E”_ **

**_“Dadza.”_ **

**_“How would you know?”_ **

**_“How about no.”_ **

**_“We will try.”_ **

Philza woke up with the sound of wailing winds on the forefront of his memories. 

* * *

”So, Philza,” The monotone voice of the one and only Techno asked from over the communicator. 

“Yea?”

“Feel like conquerin the world?”

“Mate, that sounds great.”

And it was in the Antarctic Empire that Philza learned how to braid hair and Techno learned how to help Phil preen his wings, went over plans to attack factions that are too close, or to see if a treaty with one would be beneficial.   
Somewhere along the way, Techno finally tells him of the Blood God he calls Chat. 

“Phil...you've heard me talking to myself before, right?” Techno asks while staring at the kitchen table.

“Mhm.”

“Well...I—they’re. They’re their own thing, call themselves the Blood God, and they say all these random things and they’re so lou—you don't think I’m crazy, right?” A braid comes undone with how fast Techno swings his head to look up at Phil, a hair tie between his fingers. 

“Not at all, mate.” Philza makes sure to add as much sincerity in his words, and laughs to himself in his head. He would be the world’s biggest hypocrite if he ever thought of Techno crazy for this. 

“Well, the reason why I’m telling you is cause they seem to really like you, every one of em is screamin 'Dadza' at the top of their lungs right now—it’s too funny to pass up.” A beat, then Techno chuckled, probably from something else Chat says. 

“Chat, just because Techno can’t make anything other than golden carrots or apples, and I have to cook. It doesn't make me a—” and here he adds air quotes towards his friend, “—Dadza.”  
He was rewarded with a bark of laughter after he turned back around to add in the potatoes and season the steak. 

“Poor man’s food is not my style.”

Philza rolled his eyes as he turned to cook the asparagus they got from Jordan. 

“And Chat, stop screaming, you’re gonna give him a headache.”

A pause later, Phil can hear Techno as he slouches on the table. 

“Why do they listen to you?”

Philza Minecraft will one day—sooner than later—ask Death to invite Techno to their tea party.

Chat would nag Techno for hours upon hours as they drink. 

Death would laugh and cause Techno to punt every baby zombie he sees from then on. 

And they would both wake up feeling more rested than they ever had before. 

“No clue, mate.” He actually doesn't know why they listen, but he hopes he can buy their obedience by sharing his sugar cube with them. 

After putting the food on plates, he handed them to Techno, and they fall into comfortable silence. 

A memory comes up as they eat, it makes Phil smile into his spoon as Techno talks about some ungodly win streak he had. 

He bets she would’ve liked to join their tea party as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by: Godless times - mudfrog  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/28853265


	3. Don't get him wrong, he loves the cold

It was snowing outside their cottage, a monster of a blizzard coming through their section of the arctic to put a cold white blanket over them.

Philza and Techno were sitting in his cottage, using Steve and their body heat to stave off the cold.

It’s been so long since their days in the Antarctic Empire, his body isn’t used to it anymore, and he bets that Techno isn’t either from the way he’s huddling between the warm heater that is Steve and Philza’s wings.

They were sitting in companionable silence when Techno spoke up, his voice monotoned and sleepy. “How does your hat stay on your head when you fight?”

He’s not so sure himself…

“The same way your crown stays on your head when you fight, mate,” he says instead of answering.

“Ha, fair nuff.” And it was back to the warm silence, each sitting with a cup of some tea Techno had in his kitchen.

It was after a few sips later did Techno speak again. 

“You said you met some gods before?”

“Does meeting you count?”

“Nope, technically you haven’t met them faced to face,” Techno laughs, rolling his eyes at—probably not him, Chat must’ve said something. Probably disagreement.

“Ahahah, fine then, mate. Yea, I’ve met three if we count your rules.”

“Three?!”

He began to tell him about the Blzae Empress in the Nether, how she was always two seconds away from burning his wings, how she was strict, strong, and a total badass. He promises to take him to her one day.

The End Kind though…his silver tongue that promises too easily gave him bad vibes all around, but Techno seems interested in him—another promise to take him to the End one day after they finish their work in this SMP.

He skips the one about the two gods in the End fountain, just because he didn’t meet them faced to face.

It took a few minutes until their corner of the living room became a furnace and Philza was drifting between the world of the living and sleep after telling him about the nature nymph. How he rebuilt the shrines of the deities and had them thank him in voices that echoed their homes. May it be static, charged, or rustles of leaves.

At some point while he told his story, his right wing came in front of him and Techno, dropping to act as a blanket over the layers of other blankets.

It was a few…It was some time later that he woke up when his right wing was rustled.

“Sorry,” Techno drawled out, his voice deeper with sleep—it slightly reminds him of a tuba.

“No, not as low as a tuba, Phil. Maybe a G on the violin.

Oops.

A chuckle, maybe a violin was the right comparison with the skips to a higher pitch. “At least you didn’t curse me out or anythin.”

Never.

“I know.”

He’s going to go back to sleep now before he actually says something he’s not supposed to…

His eyes were still closed, but he could hear the smile. “Probably, I’ll go make some dinner while you do.”

He dreamt of floating islands and colored lights that shot in the sky, of a void in the Nether that housed a fortress made of quartz, and of a temple in the middle of the ocean that thrived with life.

For the first time in a long while, he woke up feeling rested and warm—the smell of lasagna filling up the cottage.


	4. When pigs fly

He held the fabric of the universe in his hands, a soft night sky sprinkled with stars and painted over by clouds.

Each thread of the fabric was sewn with all the care and love that Philza had in his body made of galaxies and cosmos, in his seven trillion wings made of milky ways and blackholes that are a backdrop to the bands of lights.

Even if he was only holding it by the edge, he could feel the strong breeze of the night brush his palms, the world still cooling from their lack of sun. Every twist he makes is a crease on the mountains and the trees that covers them; a line of shadows that would run down the earth.

Yet, like it always does, the world smoothes out when he lays the universe down and wraps it around the sleeping figure below him, making sure to cover the blood-red wings that are sprouting behind his back.

This is what being hugged by the universe is like, and for the pig hybrid who has faced the trials of the world, this is what he deserve from it.

The newly turned Blood God was pushed into Philza's realm when the totem of undying was used. With the death of his mortal body—even if for a split second—the voices in his head was able to push out into the living realm. 

Philza might've threatened them with a ban—the worse punishment for something that feeds off on attention—as well as an agonizing death to each of the thousands of voices, but they all got the message in the end. 

He just wishes they were smarter about returning body-rights to Techno. Their theory about it was right—power determines the controller of the body, so if Chat relinquished...well, almost everything to Techno, that would put him back in the driver's seat. 

If they were a bit less chaotic and actually listened for once, they would've listened to Philza explain how in practice, that would've been a horrendous idea, and they could've avoided Techno getting overwhelmed by the surge of godly-powers and passing out for the past month...

But no matter, he'll wake up, and when he does. Philza will teach him how to fly between worlds and the ins and outs of godhood, show him how to tap into the well of magic and blood he knows is in there—how to harness enough of it to rule over his dominium.

Every droplet of knowledge that Philza's gained since the beginning of the universe when he was called into being, he'll give it all to him. 

For Technoblade might've promised him the world. 

But Philza will promise him the universe in return. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by: Simple man Simple plan - Philza  
> https://www.twitch.tv/videos/952881831?t=04h32m30s


End file.
